The Little Things
Author:  Frohike
Email:  frohike51@aol.com
Category:  First person narrative
Rating: PG
Spoilers:  None
Distribution:  Drop me a line and ask first.  I haven't said 
no to anyone yet.
Disclaimers:  No names are mentioned, but you can fill in 
the blanks pretty easily.  The narrator is mine.  Author's 
notes at the end.  You'll probably need them. :-)
Feedback:  Yes, please.
Dedication:  In loving memory of Harry Chapin, whose 
song, Vacancy, inspired this piece.  



Ya know, you see a lotta things in this business.  In the 
thirty years I've run this joint, I've seen more drug busts 
and hooker raids than you shake a stick at.  Had my share 
of drunk and disorderlies, a coupla room fires, two suicides 
and then there was that murder back in '87.  Damn, that 
was a mess, but shit happens.  You deal with it and get 
back to business.  Big stuff like that you don't ever forget, 
but you don't let it stick in your head; you'd go crazy if you 
did.  Nope, at the end of the day, it's the little things that 
stick with you.

See, bein' a motel man is kinda like bein' a shrink.  You 
wander in out of the rooms day in and day out, you learn 
somethin' about human nature.  Like this room, for 
example.  Over there you got your rumpled sheets.  First 
glance, you're thinkin', so what, sheets are supposed to be 
rumbled after you sleep on 'em and you'd be right.  Now, 
take a closer look.  Those sheets ain't just rumpled, they've 
been pulled clean out from under the mattress.  Look at the 
cover sheet; see how the bottom's all wadded up with the 
top?  No stains on those sheets, so he wasn't doin' the 
horizontal bop with some chickadee neither. Nossir, this 
man's got a world o' worry in him so deep that he can't 
even sleep without wrestlin' with his problems.  

Don't look at me like that.  Just 'cause you're wearin' a suit 
and those expensive shoes, don't mean you know 
everything.  Take a look in here.  More rumpled sheets, 
yeah, but not the worried kind.  These're your basic sleep 
variety rumples.  Whatcha gotta look for now is the other 
stuff.  Room smells like shit, don't it?  Smells of sweat and 
gin, and it ain't the good stuff neither.  Empty bottle in the 
can, but only one glass by the bed.  Care to make a guess 
about this one, mister?  No?  OK then, I'll tell you what I 
see.  She's afraid of something, this one is.  That bottle, she 
bought it last night, you can see the receipt right there.  She 
got in here and slugged back the entire thing all by her 
lonesome.  Huh?  Whaddya mean, how do I know it was a 
woman.  You blind, man?  Light pink lipstick on the glass. 
Sheesh, anyone coulda seen that.

Yeah, yeah, all right, come on.  They were down at the 
other end, number 17.  Come in around eight last night, 
draggin' like they'd been through the wringer.  Asked for 
separate rooms, too, but we were booked.  What?  We're 
off the interstate, do a good business with the truckers 
during the week.  We don't flip on the 'no vacancy' sign too 
often, but last night, we got lucky.  This was the only room 
left.  I don't usually remember faces, you understand, but 
like I said, it's the little things that stick with you and that 
little redhead sure did stand out in my mind.  No bigger 
than a minute, but she had that guy of hers whipped but 
good.  He was all set to head off down the road and find 
another place, but she stared his ass down.  I had a real 
hard time not laughing out loud.  He musta known, 'cause 
he just shrugged and handed me the cash for the room.  

Here we are.  Hang on, I gotta get the key out for this one.  
Ada hasn't been down to open these rooms for cleanin' yet.  
Alrighty, let's see what we got in here.  Uh oh, they musta 
been fightin'.  Chairs pushed together, pillow and blanket 
all bunched up on the cushion; oh yeah, he didn't get any 
last night.  You lookin' for anything in p'ticular?  No, just 
askin'.  Hey, that's weird.  Over there on the dresser, three 
glasses.  Hmm, smells like Jack in all three of 'em.  That 
one's hers.  Yeah, lip marks, 'though hers looks more like 
chapstick than lipstick.  But these other two belonged to 
him.  Or hims.  Maybe they had company, but from the 
look of 'em, I wouldn't think they were up to entertainin' 
anybody.  Can't see why he'd use two glasses though, so 
they musta had someone stop by.

Find anything interestin' in the bathroom?  Damn, that's a 
lot of towels for two people to use in less than twelve 
hours.  Oh geez, they stink to high heaven.  Whoever they 
had vistin' must notta bathed in weeks!  Holy cow!  I think 
I'll have Ada just burn these puppies, unless you need them 
for evidence or somethin'.  Justa guess, but you kinda have 
that Fed look about you.  

Well now, there's somethin' I don't see every day.  Most of 
the time, these ashtrays are full of butts. Don't generally 
see 'em full of sunflower seed husks.  They musta passed 
some serious hours in here.  Usually you can mark time by 
cigarette butts, but this guy has a bad seed habit.  Healthier 
than the smokes, that's for sure. 

Hey, these people you're lookin' for; they do somethin' 
really bad?  I mean, is this like a crime scene or somethin'?  
Yeah, sure, I understand.  Hush, hush, government 
business.

Sure, I can describe them again.  Can I ask you not to light 
up in here, mister?  No, this is a smokin' room, but I got 
asthma real bad.  We can go outside, if you need a fix. 
Air's movin' pretty good out there, so I can stand upwind, if 
you want.  No problem, when you gotta have one, you 
gotta have one.  I'll leave the door open so you can go back 
in when we're done.  

Now, lemme see.  Well, she's real easy to remember.  Tiny 
thing, about this high, red hair like a flame on a match, 
with a temper to boot, if last night was any indication.  
Him?  Well, that one's a little tougher.  Like I said, I don't 
usually remember the faces.  He was taller than her by a 
whole head; probably six feet or so, dark hair.  Oh yeah, he 
was wearin' gloves, black leather gloves.  It's the middle of 
freakin' July, I remember thinkin', why in the hell was this 
guy wearin' gloves?  I asked him if his hands didn't sweat 
in those things, but she kinda dragged him away before he 
had a chance to answer. One of them little things, ya 
know?  Can't tell you much more than that, other than they 
left this mornin', just about eight.  I remember 'cause I was 
just settlin' in with my coffee and bran muffin when they 
came in to drop off the key.

Ah, sure, take all the time you want. I'll be in back in the 
office if you need me.  Just close the door on your way out. 

Hey mister!  I just thought of somethin'.  Don't know if it 
means much, but that guy, when he came in this mornin', 
he wasn't wearin' those gloves.  Yeah, same guy, I guess.  
Tall, dark hair, same fireball redhead by his side.  Like I 
said though, I don't pay much attention to faces; it's the 
little things that stick with me. 

 

Author's notes:
While this makes perfect sense to me, in my twisted little 
mind, I have no doubt that some (most?) will find it 
confusing.  It might help to know that in my version of 
things, Alex Krycek did not die in that parking garage; it 
was all a cleverly conceived plot to help him get away until 
such time as Mulder and Scully need his assistance.  I will 
always believe that Alex was working for the ultimate 
good, he just had a different way of going about it.  This 
takes place after Mulder's departure.  William is at home 
with Maggie.  Does this help?  
Fro